


and tell me why it's wrong

by Anonymous



Series: but i love it when you try to save me [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: (just a little), Crying During Sex, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Explicit Consent, F/F, Female Enjolras, Female Grantaire, Frottage, Kink Exploration, Loss of Virginity, Mentions of exhibitionism, Pet Names, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Shameless Smut, Subdrop, Submissive Enjolras, Subspace, Verbal Humiliation, consensual use of the words slut/whore, enjolras is baby, far too many mentions of grantaire's strong arms, it's not as scary as it sounds it's really quite wholesome :'), just some good old fashioned wlw smut for the soul from ur local anonymous bisexual, mentions of spanking, oh where oh where to begin, uhhh what else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:42:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27923221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “It’s why you didn’t want me to hear your cute little moans, before, right? Because you liked it more when I gave you permission, when I told you I thought they were pretty?” A tiny whimper escapes her throat before she even has the chance to suppress it. “Just like that. Good girl.”Enjolras takes in a lungful of air. She can’t feel her hands. “Are you done psychoanalyzing my bedroom preferences?”“Maybe I would be if you weren’t shaking so much.”
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Series: but i love it when you try to save me [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2044288
Comments: 8
Kudos: 113
Collections: Anonymous





	and tell me why it's wrong

**Author's Note:**

> sorry this took so long, it didn't want to be written but i've finally managed! i'm reasonably happy with out it turned out although i'm still working out the kinks (lol get it? bc it's smut haha do u get the fun joke) so please kindly excuse any weird inconsistencies/typos for the time being.
> 
> thank you to everybody who read, kudos'd, and/or commented on part one! part two takes place exactly where the last one left off and is a little more intense so please mind the tags, let me know how you like it & enjoy! :)

It’s 1:45AM on a Friday night in her tiny apartment and Enjolras can’t think.

Her face is buried in Grantaire’s shoulder as Combeferre exits the room smugly to gather his things and go on his way. She can  _ feel _ her cheeks burning. She knows Ferre won’t tell anybody without her explicit permission and, really, she knows deep down that she would’ve ended up telling him every sordid detail about tonight sooner rather than later: Combeferre is both her closest friend and very hard to keep secrets from. 

No, it was more the fact that he’d found them like that—seen  _ her _ , rather: shirtless, sated, unravelled and covered in hickeys in Grantaire’s lap—that makes her want to disappear into Grantaire’s (very, very strong, very muscly and tattooed) arms and hide there till the morning, at least. Not to mention the fact that their friends apparently have an active betting pool on when they would end up together, which is a very Les Amis thing to do, to be fair; with how oblivious they’d both been all these years, she can’t really say she blames them, anyway. All she can do at this point is hope Ferre splits the money with her. Maybe she’ll ask, if she can ever bring herself to look him in the eye again.

Grantaire’s palms are rubbing her back and smoothing her tank where she’d hastily righted it. She’s laughing, a little, chest shaking under Enjolras’s cheek, exhaling into her hair as Enjolras groans scoldingly. Briefly, she considers staying like this forever, before remembering Ferre is still in the other room and probably wouldn't appreciate it.

Carefully, she starts to extricate herself from Grantaire’s grip, pausing on her way up to press a chaste kiss to Grantaire’s displeased lips. (She’s cute when she’s confused.) Her legs wobble a little when she finally gets herself upright, both from her orgasm and from straddling Grantaire for so long. Grantaire hops up quickly, steadying her with big hands on her hips, and Enjolras feels another rush of excitement and tenderness in her core. She looks up at Grantaire, dazed a little, and Grantaire stares back down, eyes alight. 

“Have a good night, you two.”

Enjolras jumps, whirling around in Grantaire’s loose grip to face Combeferre, who’s zipping his duffel bag and rolling his eyes good-naturedly. 

“You too. Uh. Sorry, Ferre,” she stutters. She feels the need to apologize, somehow, despite knowing Ferre is probably more relieved he wouldn’t have to listen to her pine anymore than he is annoyed.

“Consider us even for the time you caught me and Courf in the kitchen last year.”

Enjolras groans. “Did you really have to remind me of that? Now I have to bleach the countertops again—”

“Do the couch, too, while you’re at it,” he replies, deadpan but smiling. “Good night,” he said, pulling open the door.

“Night,” they both say in unison, and then they’re alone, standing too close together in Enjolras’s living room as the end credits roll on whatever DVD she’d put in. After she reaches down for the remote to turn off the TV, the room is silent, and she looks back up at Grantaire, whose face is pensive, but smiling.

“So that was awkward.”

Enjolras winces, tugging her skirt down and shifting as Grantaire’s gaze sweeps over the motion. “Considering the timing, it could’ve been a lot worse.”

R huffs a laugh, but her eyes darken, black overtaking brown as she meets Enjolras’s eyes again.

Enjolras hesitates, staring back. “Um. Would you like to stay the night?”

Grantaire blinks. “I—is that okay? Where would I sleep? I don’t wanna impose—”

“Yes, it’ll be  _ such _ an imposition on me to have to share my bed with the very attractive woman who just made me come. How will I possibly cope?” Watching Grantaire’s blush in response is possibly the proudest she’s ever felt, and her lips twitch upward as she takes Grantaire’s hand in hers and leads her to the bedroom, stopping only to lock the front door.

She’s self conscious as soon as he shuts her bedroom door. “Oh, shoot. I’m sorry, I didn’t—” she babbles, rushing over to the bed where a pile of clothes and books is taking up the majority of the space. She deposits the pile gracefully on the floor. “Sorry. I don’t usually have people over so I never really— I didn’t think to clean.” She blushes. She could’ve stood to vacuum once or twice in the past few weeks, but she’s been so busy, and—

R is laughing at her from where she’s standing next to the bed, looking around curiously at her posters and the cactus on her windowsill. She can’t quite get over the way the sound sends pleasant shivers down her spine. “Don’t worry about it. My apartment’s much worse right now. To be honest, it’s kind of a relief you’re not a clean freak.”

Enjolras furrows her brow skeptically. “You’re relieved that I’m a slob?”

Grantaire’s smile widens as she turns her gaze toward Enjolras, but her fingers are playing with the hem of her tank, almost nervously. “It’s just nice to have some confirmation that you aren’t  _ totally _ perfect. That’d be intimidating.”

Enjolras wrings her hands together, smoothing down her skirt again. Kicking the pile of clothes into a more manageable shape, she steps towards Grantaire and takes her hand, lowering them both to sit on the edge of the bed. She tucks her legs up beneath her; there’s still wetness between them and it makes the fluttering in her belly intensify. “I think we’ve established pretty soundly tonight that I’m not perfect,” she replies, not quite meeting Grantaire’s eyes.

“I’d beg to differ,” R retorts, her eyes flashing, and, daringly, Enjolras leans in for a kiss. Grantaire accepts it immediately, hand coming up to cup her cheek and brush her disheveled hair from her face. Enjolras preens under the attention, deepening the kiss before Grantaire pulls away to lean her forehead against hers.

“You should know that you actually broke my brain, showing up in that outfit at the bar tonight.” R’s voice is hoarse and low. “I saw you and I literally went speechless, it was pathetic.” She laughs as if to brush off her own words, but they linger in the air between them; Enjolras can feel her cheeks heat up.

“Jehan will be glad to know their hard work paid off,” she replies, and Grantaire’s eyes go wide, fingers halting against Enj's face. 

“Wait— did Jehan  _ know? _ ”

Oops. “You know nothing gets past them, okay? They knew I had a— a  _ crush _ on you, and that you’d be there tonight, and so they convinced me to dress up, like— I mean, just for fun, not to try to— I mean, obviously, it’s not like I was expecting anything like  _ this  _ to actually ever  _ happen— _ ”

But Grantaire is smiling when she cuts her off with her tongue in Enj’s mouth. Grantaire’s hands are running down her sides, squeezing at her waist. She curls her fingers gently on Grantaire’s shoulders.

“I owe Jehan free bubble tea for at least a fucking year,” Grantaire murmurs between kisses, and Enjolras huffs a laugh into her mouth. 

“Ferre may have helped a little, too, though he's probably good with his fifty bucks for the time being, ” she whispers, sliding her hands down Grantaire’s shoulders, her arms, appreciating the firm muscles.

“Uh-huh, I’m sure he’s not regretting that decision at all,” R says, still holding her waist tightly. The way she rakes her eyes up and down Enj’s body makes her squirm in her grip. “And which one of them convinced you not to include a bra in your little ensemble, Athena?”

Enjolras immediately blushes, glancing down at her thin top which, at the moment, is hiding absolutely nothing. “I— that was kind of an— executive decision?”

And then R’s hands are gripping her, half on her ass and half below her thighs. Enjolras gasps as R lifts her up and towards her, falling into her lap for the second time tonight and being held there and kissed, sighing into it as she grasps at Grantaire’s arms. Grantaire squeezes her close, every part of them pressed together as they kiss. She’s  _ so strong _ ; R holds her in place and her jeans are rough against the smooth skin of her inner thighs and she is oddly lightheaded.

“ _ Fuck _ , Enj, I can’t believe you— You  _ hate _ dressing up and you still let the whole bar see you half-naked, just for me, that’s so fucking  _ hot _ —” Enjolras whimpers as she feels more wetness soak her panties, probably showing through her skirt at this point. 

She kisses at Grantaire’s neck to distract herself, brushing her lips teasingly over her throat and humming at the vibrations of Grantaire’s voice against her lips, her heavy breaths. “I didn’t care who saw, just wanted you to look at me,” she whispers into her clavicle, and Grantaire gasps. Large hands knead at her ass and she shivers.

“I’m always looking at you, babe—  _ Fuck,  _ who knew Athena could be so slutty?” R murmurs approvingly above her, and Enjolras can’t stop the shudder that shakes her frame, nor the high-pitched ghost of a whimper that escapes her lips after hearing Grantaire’s words. For a moment, she continues kissing R’s neck, hoping her reaction would go unnoticed, or at least ignored— it was embarrassing enough figuring out being called a  _ good girl _ got her off, and this was somehow ten times worse—

But of course it doesn’t go unnoticed. Grantaire’s hands move from her ass to push gently at her shoulders, to play with the wispy straps of her top and lock their eyes. Enjolras wants to look away, but something in Grantaire’s dark eyes compels her to stay. 

“Sorry, I should’ve—” Grantaire stutters; and it’s a far cry, yes, from the sultry confident Grantaire that made her come before, but it’s sweet, somehow. “I shouldn’t’ve said that without permission, probably. Or the other stuff, either, now that I’m thinking about it, shit—” Grantaire’s eyes are wide and wincing, searching Enjolras’s, and she can’t stand it but Grantaire won’t let her get a word in— “Was that okay? Like, before? And just now, too? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I don’t wanna— I mean, I’m not always great at reading the room, you know, and you have to know I wouldn’t, just— You’d tell me? If—”

_ Fuck it,  _ Enjolras thinks, and surges up to kiss her, because Grantaire’s consent speeches give her butterflies, but so does this, and so does R calling her  _ that,  _ apparently, and she might as well lean into it because it feels so fucking  _ good _ . “You read the room just fine,” she assures against her lips, and as Grantaire’s lips part, then close, then part again, Enjolras is half-hoping she lets this go and half-begging her to say  _ it _ again.

“So then you— did you—  _ Enj _ ,” Grantaire says, brows knitted adorably as she leans back. “Enjolras, you are legally obligated to tell me if you liked that.” Her voice is almost outraged.

It’s so unexpected that Enjolras laughs, leaning back against Grantaire’s hands a little, blushing. She wants to say, ‘ _ Yes, fucking obviously, please call me that while I come on your fingers,  _ but instead, she says, “Fuck the law. I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Grantaire’s lips curl into a smile, the tension flooding out of her as her eyes narrow in determination. Enjolras kisses her again on reflex before Grantaire can get any words out. 

Grantaire’s hands slide down to her thighs again. Enjolras can’t help but whine a little at the sensation— Grantaire’s hands are just so—  _ big _ , and calloused, rough palms dragging over the sensitive skin of her thighs. She thinks of a little while ago, when Grantaire had gripped her hips and pressed her down, boneless and shaking with pleasure, onto her lap, making her come. Her legs shake as she feels herself getting wetter at the memory. Grantaire’s fingers fiddle with the edge of her skirt, just a little below the curve of her ass; she sways her hips involuntarily and moans.

“Can’t believe you’re even real,” Grantaire murmurs against her lips, and Enjolras grabs at the straps of Grantaire’s top to pull her in closer, knuckles brushing against the smooth skin underneath. “You getting wet again, baby? Already?”

Enjolras tries to squeeze her legs together at the words; she is, but like hell she’s gonna admit it. “R, please,” she demands instead, though it comes out more whiny than she’d intended.

“Please what?” R says. Her hands are pressed to Enjolras’s ass over her skirt; she chokes down a moan.

“Take off your shirt,” Enjolras whispers, hands gliding down from the straps of her top to the hem. Grantaire freezes for a moment, studying Enjolras, who meets her eyes steadily, mustering as much want into her eyes as she possibly can, though it doesn’t seem entirely necessary. Grantaire squeezes her ass.

“Take it off me, then,” she says lowly, and Enjolras tugs the hem up, sighing when Grantaire’s hands leave her to pull the fabric off completely, and  _ shit _ —

Grantaire is below her, in her black jeans and a lacy red bra, the tattoos on her arms and shoulders fully visible now. Enjolras runs her fingers over them in awe, shaking a little when she sees how Grantaire’s bicep dwarfs her hand. And her breasts are— She swallows. “Fuck,” she says, intelligently. 

Grantaire looks shy and maybe a little uncertain, but she smiles at Enjolras’s statement. “Glad you like what you see,” she says, and brushes her fingers against the straps of Enjolras’s top in turn, smirking that infuriating smirk she always gets when she teases Enj. “And as much as I love this little outfit, I think it might be time to say goodbye.”

Enjolras blushes. She knows it’s stupid to hesitate, given what just transpired, but the thought of baring herself completely to Grantaire is— a lot. Not undesirable, just a lot, and Grantaire’s breasts are large and her nipples are dark and beautiful and very distracting and—

“Oh, come on, Athena. You already let the whole bar see your tits tonight and  _ now  _ you’re getting shy?”

She should be embarrassed, she knows, but Grantaire’s words only make her wetter, and the fact that they’re meant to embarrass her only augments the feeling. She squirms. “I did not let the whole bar see them,” she says, shivering as her ponytail brushes against the back of her neck.

Grantaire’s hands are  _ also _ incredibly distracting. “Might as well have. Your pretty nipples were showing right through because of your  _ executive decision _ ,” she teases, tugging her closer. Enjolras is staring at her breasts, barely covered by the practically sheer red fabric, and she knows she’s staring but can’t seem to stop herself. “What had you so turned on, hm?” she speaks against Enjolras’s collarbone, making her sigh before bringing her hand around to guide Enjolras, by the chin, into a searing kiss; there’s no telling how long it lasts before Grantaire is whispering against her lips again. “Was it the feeling of so many eyes on you? You felt slutty in your short little skirt, didn’t you, baby?”

Enjolras whines, because she’s  _ right _ , and buries her face in Grantaire’s neck, feeling the hitch in her breath as she laughs. She shifts her hips at the pleasure that bursts through her in response.

“Bet you got wet from it there, too. You like that, huh?” she says when Enjolras whimpers against her, running a hand over her hair soothingly. “Maybe I should’ve done this there— kissed your neck and played with your cute little tits.” She drags her hand down over her breast and Enjolras cries out as a fingernail catches her nipple, still oversensitive. “You would’ve been dripping down your pretty thighs for everyone to see by the time I was done with you.”

Enjolras is lightheaded where her face is still pressed to Grantaire’s collarbone. “ _ Yes _ ,” she murmurs, weaker than she cares to admit, not entirely sure whether she’s teasing or serious.

Grantaire laughs breathily. “You  _ would _ like it, huh? I thought you’d wanna call a meeting or something to tell our friends about us, address their concerns with a Q and A segment or something, but apparently letting them see you all fucked out on my lap is enough.” Enjolras squeaks as Grantaire pinches her nipple, playful and  _ awful _ , and she squirms away from the sensation.

“W-worked well enough for Ferre, right?” she replies, finally bringing her hands up Grantaire’s sides to frame her breasts in an attempt to distract her from the unbearable, almost-painful pleasure she’s inflicting on Enjolras. Grantaire stills, and Enjolras looks up at her; her eyes are dark and her short curls are delightfully mussed. “Can I? Please?” Enjolras says, and Grantaire snaps into motion, reaching her arms behind her to unclasp her bra, breasts shifting downwards beautifully as she does. Enjolras feels lost, unsure what she should do, and so, unceremoniously, she presses her face to one of R’s breasts and kisses it chastely.

She’s not sure if Grantaire is sighing in pleasure or laughing at her or some uniquely _Grantaire_ combination of both, so she ignores the heat in her cheeks and keeps going: bites a little, brings her hands up to feel the weight of them in her palms.

“They’re not as sensitive as yours,” Grantaire says, “though I guess that’s a pretty high bar to jump.” 

Enjolras tears her mouth away reluctantly, and it’s immediately snatched up by Grantaire’s. R’s hands are back at her waist, fingers recklessly working their way under her skirt and her top. Enjolras squirms; the sensation of being held in place, unable to move, is heady. She reaches carefully from Grantaire’s breasts to her hands, and R is quick to respond by grabbing her wrists, engulfing them in one hand, bringing them above her head and only letting go to unceremoniously tug her shirt up and over her head. Enjolras feels like a doll and is not surprised to find that she fucking loves it. She tosses the fabric away and returns her hand to its firm grip around Enj’s wrists, and her tongue in her mouth is like a dream—

And suddenly she’s on her back, Grantaire above her, pressing her wrists into the mattress, and Enjolras has never been more willingly helpless in her life. 

R nudges a thigh between Enjolras’s splayed ones easily, and Enjolras tosses her head back, overwhelmed. There’s no way Grantaire can’t feel how wet she is, now. She moans. She’s fallen apart for real this time, open and bare as she’s held down and kissed, but it isn’t anything like it had been in the past . She feels just as vulnerable, just as lost, but it’s safer, somehow, sweeter. The tongue licking into her mouth is sweeter.

She tries, vainly, to tangle a hand in Grantaire’s hair, but finds herself unable to get free from her one-handed grip, which sends a rush of tremors through her. R laughs gently into her mouth and brings her other hand to one of her breasts, tracing the marks she’d left there earlier. Enjolras hisses.

“Not complaining,” R whispers, “but I never thought Miss Fight-the-Power would be so into getting held down.”

Enjolras doesn’t know how it’s possible, but she blushes even more. “You’re such a— mmf— such a fucking tease,” she stutters, just barely resisting the urge to grind against R’s thigh, tossing her head back as Grantaire mouths at her jaw, watching her.

“Mm, sorry, babygirl, but you’re a little too wet to pretend you don’t like it.” She presses her thigh forward, just slightly, and Enjolras arches up into her, whining.

Inexplicably, Enj can feel that heat in her core building again, and she thrashes in Grantaire’s grip. “Wait, fuck, stop—”

And Grantaire’s hands are off her in half a second, scrambling back from Enj, who feels very cold all of a sudden. Grantaire is staring at her carefully, expectantly. Enj somehow feels even more bare, flat on her back with her legs strewn open across Grantaire’s lap. Grantaire looks a little terrified, and fuck, she’s messed this up again—

“Sorry, um, I didn’t— I was—” Her voice sounds warbly and high-pitched to her own ears and she inhales shakily to try and pull herself together. “You haven’t come yet and I didn’t want to— again, with you not—” she huffs in frustration. Words had never been more difficult.

Grantaire seems to understand, though, sighing in relief and smiling a little. “I forgot, it takes, like, two words and a light breeze to make you come,” she says, seemingly recovered and back to embarrassing Enj, and she really shouldn’t be so turned on by it. “You can come as many times as you want, you know. It’s not like we have to take turns.”

Enjolras blinks. “Well, I don’t know how it works,” she says dumbly. Grantaire shifts a little closer; Enjolras sits back up to meet her, arms shaky beneath her. “And I— I wanna make you come,” she confesses, “but, um. I’ve. Obviously, I’ve never—”

“Enj,” R cuts her off, dark brown eyes meeting her gaze fervently, looking slightly dazed. Enjolras feels a little vindicated. “Listen, I— I know I was teasing you before, but right now I could probably come just from watching you like this.”

Enjolras feels a rush of warmth through her entire body, feeling exposed, and finding, most bafflingly of all, that she kind of loves it. She looks away from Grantaire’s steady, hungry gaze, not knowing what to say, and opting to blink instead at the tattoos— flowers and crossbones and cartoon characters— dancing across Grantaire’s biceps.  _ God, she’s hot _ . She reaches up to pointlessly tuck a messy curl behind her ear, shivering as her arm brushes against her breast, shivering as R  _ watches  _ her shiver. She squeezes her thighs together.

“R,” she says helplessly, and her voice is a facsimile of itself. 

“I need you to tell me what you want, babe,” Grantaire says, reaching for Enjolras’s hand where it rests in her lap. “Anything you want.”

Enjolras is suddenly and hopelessly lost at the words. Anything she wants? What she wants is for Grantaire to keep looking at her like  _ this _ , like she’s the most intricate and fascinating piece of art she’s ever created. She wants Grantaire to keep touching her, somehow rough and unyielding and gentle and soothing and electrifying all at once. She wants Grantaire to tell her—

“I— um.” Enjolras breathes in, out, as discreetly as she can. “I liked what you said, before.”

Grantaire stares at her, dark eyes bottomless and beautiful. Enjolras half-expects her to tease, again, to ask her to be more specific, to say those words again just to see if they’ll get Enj riled up, even out of context. But she doesn’t seem to know what to say; her eyes are searching for something. Enjolras keeps talking.

“I don’t know— I don’t know what I’m doing, but. I like  _ you,  _ and. I like how you look at me, and how you touch me, and the— the things you call me.” Her voice is shaking. “I like— feeling like this. I like that you like that I like it.”

Grantaire’s laugh catches her off guard, but it makes her smile anyway. “God, you’re a dork.” R is smiling now, too, the unreadable look almost gone. “I think I get what you mean,” she says simply, and leans in to kiss Enjolras again. The kiss is short, almost chaste, but it doesn’t feel chaste with the way Grantaire’s hands reach out to hold her waist— to hold her in  _ place _ . She inhales shakily against Grantaire’s lips. “It makes sense. The goddess is in charge of everything; of course a break from that is gonna feel nice. It’s good, right? Here, lay back down.” She shifts so her thigh separates both of Enjolras’s, strong hands guiding her down to her back again. “It feels good to just lay back and get held down and kissed, huh? It’s nice to be made to feel good. ‘Cause that’s another thing, right?” she whispers, leaning down to kiss at Enjolras’s marked up neck. “Like— you dress like a lawyer, you drink your coffee black. I don’t even think I’ve seen you get drunk before tonight. It’s like you feel guilty for enjoying yourself.”

Enjolras is about to protest, but, well. She’s not wrong. 

“So when someone makes you feel good, and praises you for feeling good, it makes you feel like you’re  _ allowed _ , like you’re doing well. Like your pleasure has purpose.” Grantaire bites down on Enjolras’s collarbone, eliciting a sharp gasp. “It’s why you didn’t want me to hear your cute little moans, before, right? Because you liked it more when I gave you permission, when I told you I thought they were pretty, right?” A tiny whimper escapes her throat before she even has the chance to suppress it. “Just like that. Good girl.”

Enjolras takes in a lungful of air. She can’t feel her hands. “Are you done psychoanalyzing my bedroom preferences?” she demands, though the tremor in her voice is a dead giveaway that Grantaire’s words are true. 

“Maybe I would be if you weren’t shaking so much,” R whispers against her sternum, and Enj tosses her head back when she admits that she’s right. She closes her eyes; Grantaire is leaning over her, thigh moving closer to her aching core, rough hands stimulating every inch of bare, sensitive skin on her arms, her sides, her chest. Enjolras feels like she’s going to shake apart; she can feel her heartbeat down there, so close to where Grantaire is almost touching her. 

“Please,” she whispers into the dimness. “Please.”

“You’re sweet when you beg,” R says, her voice rough like the denim of her jeans. Very few people have ever defined Enjolras as  _ sweet _ . For the first time, with wetness soaking the insides of her thighs, she thinks she could be. There’s a rush of something like panic in her veins. “What are you begging me for, baby?” Grantaire asks, nosing at her jaw.

“I don’t— I don’t know.” Her hands scramble at Grantaire’s dark curls, separating the short little ringlets.

“I think I know,” R hums. “Or I can guess. Have you ever fucked yourself, angel?”

Enjolras jolts. Has she— what? Her thighs twitch around Grantaire’s; the pleasure feels almost illicit. 

She’s masturbated before, yes, though not often— only when she’s woken up from a particularly vivid dream, her clit still throbbing against her wet pajamas. It happened rarely before she met Grantaire. The dreams were hazy and forgettable, back then, ending with Enjolras grinding silently against her pillow until the feeling dissipated and she could start her day as usual. After meeting R, though— well. It felt wrong to have the dreams she was having in the first place, let alone to indulge in them by gratifying herself to their contents. The dreams left her writhing, panting into her pillow in an attempt to calm herself before trudging to the cold shower to wash the slick from between her thighs.

Maybe, she thought idly, this was why Grantaire had so infuriated her so when they’d first met. 

“I—” she stutters; Grantaire’s lips curl into a smile as she looks down at Enjolras. It doesn’t help her find her words. “I— like, inside?”

Grantaire’s laugh is fond. “Yes, Enj, inside.”

Enjolras blushes, feeling small. She’d tried once, but she hadn’t gotten far. It hadn’t felt  _ right _ , somehow; the cramp in her wrist prevented her from exploring any further than a single digit. “No— I— I don’t— I never saw the point.”

But now, Grantaire is looking at her like she’s the most precious thing in the world, thumbs brushing against the undersides of her breasts idly as she listens to Enjolras talk about  _ fucking herself _ , and she can’t help but imagine calloused fingers pushing inside her. 

They’d be big, much bigger than her own: overwhelming, even, and Enjolras would beg for it, would leak all over them, get them soaking wet as they fucked her. Grantaire would be  _ inside _ her, reaching places so deep even she didn’t know what they felt like. But Grantaire would. She trembles. 

“But I— I think. If you want. I think I want you to.” The words flow out of her unbidden. “I want you to fuck me, Grantaire.”

Grantaire buries her face in her neck; the short strands of her hair tickle Enj’s face. “ _ Fuck _ , baby,  _ yes,  _ I wanna be inside you,” Grantaire says hoarsely, and Enjolras can only wrap her arms around R’s waist in response. She breathes as Grantaire’s hand trails low, stopping to stroke at her hipbone over her skirt. Lightheaded, she bucks up against the touch, rubbing against Grantaire’s leg as she does.

“Control yourself, angel,” R whispers,  _ finally _ returning her lips to Enj’s and kissing her again. “I wanna take my time with you. Get you really ready.” 

“I  _ am _ ready,” Enjolras whines. She crosses her wrists above her now barely cohesive ponytail, silently begging to be held down.  _ Held down and fucked, _ her mind supplies, and the thought makes her whimper as Grantaire stares down at her, leaning back from her knelt position between Enj’s legs before sliding her hand up, tangling in Enj’s hair before pressing her wrists hard into the bed. Enjolras sighs in relief, bucking her hips more frantically towards Grantaire’s thigh to no avail. She can feel everything: every fingerprint digging into her bony wrists, every brush of denim on the sensitive insides of her thighs. Even without stimulation, she feels so  _ close _ , like she’s standing on some kind of precipice, anchored only by R’s strong hands.

“You’re desperate already, how cute,” R says between messy kisses to her hair and the side of her head. “I fucking love how easy you are. All I have to do is call you a good girl and you’re spreading your pretty thighs for me, begging to be fucked.” The moan that escapes Enjolras is high-pitched and breathy and it makes Grantaire’s lips tremble against hers. She spreads her legs wider, and  _ fuck _ — “Shh,  _ good  _ girl, that’s my good little slut— oh, fuck, you really love that, don’t you, baby?” She laughs a little when Enjolras cries out, but it doesn’t feel mean— it’s fond, almost, a little awe-inspired. “Does it get you all wet? You like when I call you a slut?”

Enjolras squirms, shifting her hips to seek out any sensation at all. She stutters. “Ah—  _ ah _ , I,  _ fuck _ , yes, I like it, I like— mm, ’m—  _ your _ —” she cuts herself off with a noise that’s somewhere between a sob and a whimper. The thought of R seeing her like this, flushed and shaking and leaking beneath her—

“That’s right, babygirl, you’re  _ my _ slut,  _ shit— _ ” Grantaire digs her nails into Enjolras’s wrists briefly before letting them go, eliciting a whine from Enjolras. “Shh, baby, s’okay— gotta get you ready. You want me to fuck you? Hmm?” Enjolras writhes underneath her, unable to control herself, before Grantaire’s hands come to rest on her hips again. Except it’s nothing like the calm, soothing motions from a few moments ago; R’s palms are pressing her hips down into the mattress. She can’t move, can’t grind her hips down or get any friction at all, and it’s as frustrating as it is dizzying. She buries her fingers in her own hair, tugging lightly to ground herself. 

“R, please,  _ please _ , wanna feel you inside me so bad— I wanna come again for you,  _ ah _ —”

“So impatient,” R scolds, but she’s still grinning that astonishing grin and her hand is slowly making its way under her skirt, smoothing over the fever-heat of her thigh in little circles. “You should see yourself, fuck— I’ve hardly touched you and you already look like this. I can’t imagine how fucking  _ divine  _ you’re gonna look while you’re getting fucked.”

R’s fingers are calloused and insistent and she needs them inside  _ now _ . “ _ Please— _ take off my skirt? Please?” she says, her voice breathy and an octave higher than usual.

R cocks her head, red lips twisting into a smirk that manages to be just as infuriating as it always is. “Aw, but babe, you look so cute in it. You kept tugging it down at the bar and it drove me fucking crazy.”

Enjolras blushes, smiling a little despite her position. “I was being modest,” she teases, tilting her hips up a little more.

“Is that what you call it?” R says, finally sliding her hands up Enj’s thighs to tug at the zipper of the white skirt. She gets it halfway down her thighs before Grantaire is pausing, staring at the absolute mess her panties have become. “Holy fuck.”

Enjolras shifts, heat pulsing through her. She tries in vain to bring her thighs together; R holds them apart without even a thought, palms pressing lightly, absently, into the pale flesh. 

She'd bought those panties on a whim, curious about how they'd feel versus the soft, plain cotton briefs she usually buys. This is the first time she's worn them for real and the difference had been unfathomable; they were rough and feminine and made her shiver whenever she'd bent over the pool table at the bar. She can’t quite see them now but she imagines they’re ruined, dark blue lace made even darker by her orgasm. She thinks, idly, that this wouldn’t be the first time R has ruined a pair of her panties, although it is the first time she’s done so deliberately, and definitely the first time she’s seen the results of her work.

She’s certainly getting a good look in now.

Enjolras squirms against Grantaire’s hands, a blush creeping across her chest as Grantaire stares at her, almost hungrily. “C’mon— R,  _ please _ —”

Grantaire drags her eyes up to meet hers, and Enjolras swallows, vulnerable underneath her, thin arms crossed above her head, chest marked and bruised for Grantaire. 

And then, R’s lips are on hers again, biting and overwhelming, and her hands are  _ everywhere _ , brushing carelessly over her tits and her thighs and—  _ oh. _

The first touch of Grantaire’s fingers to her clit is imprecise and rapturous, evoking a string of cries from Enjolras as she arches, trembling, into it.

“ _ Fuck,”  _ R whispers into her mouth. “Fuck, you’re so  _ beautiful _ —”

And it should be mortifying, but the words bring tears to Enjolras’s eyes as Grantaire’s fingers dig the lace of her panties into her clit. It’s rough and so close to being painful that Enjolras can’t help but writhe against her, unsure if her hips are shifting for more or trying desperately to get away. She feels helpless under Grantaire, little whimpers escaping her as R tells her how good she’s being, how sensitive and responsive she is for her. Enjolras can’t think, doesn’t  _ have _ to think, when Grantaire notices her tears and asks if she’s okay— she just nods, clinging to Grantaire’s hand as it moves up from teasing her nipples to press her own into the sheets. 

“That’s right, good little slut, I’ve got you.”

She’s about to come again, drunk on pleasure and embarrassment, but she feels Grantaire’s fingers slip under the fabric of her panties, dipping just barely into her, and she gasps at the same time as a sob.

“Taire, I—” she cuts herself off on a moan, wondering if Grantaire can feel the throbbing in her pussy.

“ _ Fuck _ , angel, you’re so fucking wet for me, so easy to just slip inside.”

Enjolras honest-to-god  _ whines _ , hole fluttering against Grantaire’s waiting fingers. “I  _ want  _ you inside, I— please be gentle,” she whimpers, feeling herself blush at the request because she’s never felt so  _ small _ , pressed into the mattress, trapped between the sheets and Grantaire above her, covering her.

But R only stares down at her, pupils blown, and kisses her, more gentle even than the first one she’d given her tonight, with Enjolras desperate and excited on the couch. She kisses her chastely as the tip of her finger starts to slip inside. Enjolras cries out as her entrance flutters against it, wondering if Grantaire could feel it, too. It slides deeper as her hips tremble, legs locked weakly around Grantaire’s waist.

She’s never felt anything like this.

Her face crumples as Grantaire’s finger presses all the way in, her walls trembling around it, around every callous and scar— and she whimpers knowing Grantaire can feel how soaked she is, every shudder and uncontrollable tremor of her body. She tenses completely as she feels her orgasm start to build; she doesn’t want this to end but it feel so  _ good _ , R above her and around her and  _ inside her _ , holding her down and making her  _ shake _ —

She doesn’t realize she’s still crying until Grantaire kisses a tear off her face, one finger just barely moving inside her and another about to press in alongside it. “I want you to let yourself feel good, babygirl.” Enjolras clenches around her fingers hard at the name; a second finger presses in, stretching her. She sobs. “Shh,  _ shh, _ ” R murmurs, kissing Enjolras lips even though she’s unable to kiss back. “You’re so fucking pretty like this, I’m so lucky,  _ fuck _ , can’t believe I get to see you like this, shaking and leaking all over my fingers, you feel so  _ perfect _ inside, such a good girl for me—”

She’s making little whimpering sounds, now, constant and uncontrollable and only interrupted by sobs. “ _ Y-yes, yes,”  _ is all she can muster, trying in vain to control her breathing as the pressure in her core grows.

“ _ Relax _ , angel, relax for me, okay? You’re doing so well, Enj, just—” R bites gently at her collarbone as she arches up, back bending like a bow underneath her. “I can tell you’re close, baby, why are you fighting it? I want you to let yourself feel good—”

Enjolras clenches her eyes shut, colors dancing in front of her eyes as she sobs. “R,  _ please _ , I w-wanna— I need—  _ please, please _ —”

Grantaire’s fingers pause their movements inside her, stilling where they’re pressed to that perfect spot, and Enjolras is so desperate for permission but she can’t stop herself from writhing weakly, twisting and clenching, wrists thrashing wildly under Grantaire’s strong hand—

“Look at you,” R whispers, her voice raspy and reverent.

“ _ Too much _ ,” Enjolras whimpers unevenly, legs twitching where they’re splayed around Grantaire’s waist. “Too much, R, please, I—” she stutters on a sob as R’s fingers start moving again, curling so perfectly against the spot inside her she didn’t even know was fucking  _ there _ , and it’s all she can do to close her eyes and choke on air, letting out the most pathetic noises but it’s okay because R likes them, thinks they’re pretty, thinks  _ she’s _ pretty—

“ _ Shh, _ it’s okay— fuck, baby, such a perfect little whore for me.” She’s gazing down at Enjolras like she’s dreaming, smiles a little when Enjolras arches her back at the words. “Stop holding back, Enj, I wanna see you fall apart— let go, it’s okay, shh—”

And she falls apart.

The orgasm that’s been building since she first sat down on her bed arrives slowly, at first, a wave of heat and pleasure that makes her tense around R’s fingers; makes her legs tremble wildly; makes her clench her fists where they’re pinned to the sheets below her. She’s never felt anything like it, is almost afraid she’s going to shake apart with the force of it, but— 

It isn’t until she sees R’s eyes sweeping over her—her marked up breasts, the splay of her legs— that the wave crests, overtaking her, making her scream and arch underneath R’s body, pinning her down; her pussy contracts so tightly around R’s fingers that she can suddenly feel them even deeper. R lets go of her wrists as she writhes— “Good girl, so pretty when you’re coming for me, doesn’t that feel good, baby?”— pressing her down by her belly to the mattress where she was about to fall off the bed, making her squeal as the fingers inside her are forced against her spot, and she can’t think of anything except for pleasure, and R above her, whispering soothing words that she can’t understand, and then she thinks of nothing at all.

—

When she comes to, there’s a heavy weight against her, and Grantaire’s voice is in her ear. “Shh, babygirl, that was perfect, no need to cry. Just rest, okay? Did so well for me, such a good girl—”

She’s making these pathetic little whimpering noises but she can’t find it in herself to stop, wrapping her legs weakly around one of Grantaire’s thighs and letting herself be held as she cries, catching her breath. The movement makes Grantaire pause as she strokes Enjolras’s hair.

“You with me, angel?”

Enjolras sniffles, nodding her head as best she can where it’s nestled between the pillow and Grantaire’s shoulder. She can’t quite find words, but she brings her arm up to numbly paw at R’s back like some weak facsimile of a hug. 

Grantaire smiles against her hair. “So beautiful, Enj. You were such a good girl for me. How are you feeling?” Her voice is soft and tender and a little concerned and it makes fresh tears well up in her eyes.

“Mmf,” she replies. Grantaire laughs against her temple, smoothing her hair back as she kisses her head. She wants to tell Grantaire she loves her; the words won’t come, tangled up in her brain. She’s floating, lost in the cloudiness and warmth of— of whatever the fuck Grantaire managed to do to her. She clings to her a little harder, and Grantaire holds her that much more securely, whispering affirmations in her ear that she knows she should be embarrassed for needing.

“ _ Oh.  _ Thank you,” she mumbles into her pillow. Grantaire laughs.

“You’re gonna give me a big head, god, don’t thank me. As if that wasn’t the most beautiful thing I’ve ever gotten to do.”

Enjolras smiles dazedly, but winces as she shifts, the pleasant, heavy numbness of her body morphing into soreness. Her eyebrows knit together as her legs brush against Grantaire’s thigh, the denim rough against her skin, and—

Shit. She’s still wearing jeans, which means she hasn’t come yet, which means Enjolras has selfishly come two fucking times and not even begun to  _ think  _ about reciprocating, and—

She whimpers, tearing herself away from Grantaire’s strong arms around her and sitting up straddling Grantaire’s thigh unsteadily. Her legs almost give out beneath her but she catches herself on R, hands conveniently landing right at her waist, at the top of her tight jeans.

“What’s wrong?” Grantaire says, and her face is concerned and confused but also flushed in a way Enjolras has never seen it before, and she feels warm at the sight. 

“I have to make you come,” Enjolras whispers harshly, and she shifts closer to Grantaire so her knee is pressed against her where it lays between her legs. Grantaire gasps at the movement, tilting her hips up and propping herself up on her elbows to look at Enjolras. Her eyes are wide and adoring and Enjolras has no idea what she’s doing but she  _ has _ to, has to do this one way or another,  _ needs _ to do this and do it well for R. “Please? Can I make you come?”

R smiles tentatively, a blush still high on her cheeks as her head rolls to one shoulder, gazing up at Enj fondly where she’s perched over her, shaky and bare. “You really don’t have to ask for permission, Enj, but—”

“Yes, I do,” Enjolras interjects, meaning so many things at once.

Grantaire’s lips part, just so, and Enjolras almost loses her balance as she leans down to kiss her, arms trembling where they support her on either side of Grantaire’s head. She puts everything she has into it, bites at Grantaire’s lip teasingly and licks into her mouth like Grantaire had done to her. She inches forward, pressing her knee even further against Grantaire’s center and relishing in her answering moan. It’s going perfectly until Grantaire runs her hands up, brushing against Enjolras’s waist and her sides, and making her elbows give out on her as they palm softly at her breasts. She has to move her head to the side instinctively to avoid colliding skulls with R, who holds her close and laughs.

“R,  _ please _ ,” Enjolras whines, equal parts petulant and spent and turned on.

The laugh doesn’t leave Grantaire’s voice when she says, “Okay, babe, alright, I’m sorry. Be a good girl and make me come.”

Enjolras sits up again, swaying as she fiddles with the button of R’s jeans. “How do you— How should I—” she mumbles, refusing to meet R’s eyes as she realizes she hasn’t the slightest idea of how to make her girlfriend come. She feels lost, suddenly, shaking where she kneels above R, because she’d just begged to do this and R wants her to be good and she can’t—

Inexplicably, the stinging in her eyes returns again; she swallows against it as Grantaire leans up again, big hands coming to rest on her thighs.

“Enj? Enj, hey—” she sits up completely, gathering Enjolras back into her arms. Enjolras sighs shakily, tucking her face into Grantaire’s neck.

“Sorry, I—” she closes her eyes, wincing at the way her cheeks heat up. God, she’s— “I’ve never— I don’t know how to, but I— I wanna be good, ‘m sorry, I can’t, I don’t—” she’s incoherent, she knows, mumbling nonsense against Grantaire’s collarbone.

“Enjolras, hey. Hey, it’s okay, you’re perfect, come here— Oh, you’re shivering.” Grantaire sounds concerned and vaguely panicked, running her arms up and down her back. Enjolras wipes frustratedly at a tear running down her cheek.

“Fuck, I’m sorry—”

“Shh,” Grantaire whispers, “you have nothing to be sorry for, come here. You’re perfect, angel, just the best, you were  _ so  _ good for me.” Enjolras sniffs, hating that she needs to be coddled like this. “I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t mean for you to get so far gone; come back to me, okay? Breathe for me, that’s it,” she soothes, and Enjolras has no idea what she’s talking about but then she’s pressing Enjolras tight against her and stroking her arms and her back and her hair, kissing every inch of her she can reach, and suddenly she can breathe, the cloudiness around her becoming a little clearer.

She doesn’t know how long she stays like that, feeling small and delicate in Grantaire’s arms, tracing the patterns of her tattoos with her eyes until the stinging goes away. But when it does, Grantaire’s words have dissipated to little mindless murmurs between kisses, and Enjolras pulls away slowly, eyes downcast. R’s jeans are still unbuttoned.

When she finally manages the will to look up, Grantaire’s face is tense, as if she’s afraid that at any moment Enjolras is going to fall over, or burst into tears, or some unholy combination of the two. She can’t really blame her.

She gives R the barest smile before returning her hands to the waist of R’s jeans, thumbing beneath them as she searches R’s face for approval.

“You don’t have to, Enj,” is all she says, her gaze still more concerned than lustful. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to. You’ve been through a lot tonight—”

“You say it like it was some kind of tragic ordeal,” Enjolras interjects.

“It’s not like that, just—” R’s hands cover her own, her voice desperate. “You— It was your first time and— well, we didn’t exactly take it slow, Enj. It’s okay to be overwhelmed. You were pretty far gone, and I don’t want to push you.”

Enjolras blushes. God, she feels ridiculous, but— “I feel better now, really. Less—” she searches for the word, unsure how to articulate what it was she’d been feeling, but desperate to show R she’s okay. “I’m less fuzzy, now. Not as— fragile.” She shifts closer, swinging her leg back between R’s. “And maybe I  _ like _ being overwhelmed. Maybe I like when  _ you  _ overwhelm me.” She smiles shyly at the way Grantaire’s eyes widen, leaning in to kiss her.

R melts into it at first, hands coming back up to tangle in her hair, until she pulls away at Enjolras’s gasp.

“Enj, there’s a difference between being overwhelmed and having a panic attack,” she says, and her voice is still concerned but there’s a hint of familiar levity, now, like when she’s playing devil’s advocate at Les Amis meetings.

“That wasn’t a panic attack,” Enjolras replies petulantly, even though it kind of was. She huffs; of course this wasn’t going to be easy. “I just— I got upset because—” she pauses, closing her eyes as R brushes her hand out of her face, tucking a wild blond strand behind her ear. She feels warmer, suddenly. “I wanted to be— good, for you, but— well. Obviously, I don’t really know what I’m doing, I—” she laughs a little, self-deprecating because she’s not sure what she’s  _ saying _ either. “I barely know how to make myself come, let alone someone else.” Something flashes in R’s eyes and it spurs her to lean in closer, meeting R’s wide gaze head on. “If only I had a good teacher,” she breathes, smiling as R kisses her again, as the arms around her grip her tighter.

“God, you’re the worst,” R says, but the corners of her lips are turned up in the most gorgeous way. “You don’t have to learn everything there is to know about sex in one night, you know. We might not be taking it  _ slow _ , but we can at least take it at a reasonable fucking pace,” she teases, even as she lifts her hips to let Enj tug down her jeans, even as Enj stares slack-jawed and frozen at the way her black panties are completely soaked through. Enjolras looks up, her own clit throbbing at the evidence of R’s arousal, despite the fact that she’s absolutely fucking spent.

“But I— R. I wanna make you come,” she almost whines. She feels like a broken record.

“How about this,” Grantaire says, shifting Enjolras up and back so she’s laying on the bed with R over her, their legs entwined. “How about I just—”

“Use me,” Enjolras breathes, understanding. R wants to grind against her thigh, use her to come, and Enjolras can’t do much but she can probably manage  _ this _ , laying back and looking pretty and being a good little doll for R’s pleasure; her lashes flutter at the thought. She wants this, maybe more than she’d wanted R fucking her before. “Please, use me.”

“ _ Fuck _ , you can’t just  _ say _ things like that,” R growls, leaning her head against Enjolras’s shoulder. Gingerly, Enjolras floats one of her wrists down to the bedding above her head, noting how R tracks the movement.

“I think you like it, though.” Enjolras’s voice is bell-like as she realizes, yes, this is going to work, she’s going to do this. “You want it too, right? You wanna pin me down and use me however you want, wanna grind against my thigh until you come?” The words feel foreign on Enjolras’s tongue, but they pull a moan from Grantaire’s throat that makes her own pussy throb. Her thigh is already soaked from Grantaire’s arousal even though she hasn’t even started moving yet, and it’s because of  _ her _ . She feels drunk. “It’s okay, R, I want you to use me. I’ll be your good girl, do whatever you say,” she whispers, whimpering at the end as Grantaire thrusts forward, the top of R’s thigh grinding down into her clit.

One of R’s hands wraps around her wrist tightly, squeezing as she presses it into the mattress. Enjolras thinks she could come from thinking of that alone. Grantaire only mutters curses into the crook of her neck as the movement of her hips increases, and Enjolras feels powerful and powerless at the same time when each of R’s thrusts forward causes a shockwave of pleasure and pain to her clit.

“I— ah— was thinking of you the whole time I was getting ready, you know,” she murmurs, lifting her other hand to graze over the curves of R’s body, her strong arms. R moans again, low and desperate. “You were right. It made me so wet, thinking of what you’d think, seeing me dressed like such a slut,” she confesses, the unfamiliar word causing a surge of pleasure through her. R bites at her neck, growling as if to warn her, but Enjolras keeps going, tilting her hips up. “‘Cause you were right, I was d-dripping at the bar, I wanted you so bad— mmf—!” she whimpers, clawing at R’s back. “Wanted you to— To pin me down right there in front of everyone, show them all— ah!— Show them I’m a s-slut for you—”

“ _ Fuck _ , Enjolras!” R’s voice goes high, suddenly, gripping Enj’s wrist even tighter, grinding harder against her thigh. 

Enjolras gasps, the friction against her clit agonizing; her back arches like a bow, unsure if she’s trying to get away or even closer.

“I can’t even tell you— how many times I’ve thought about it—” R mutters, voice threadbare and heavy against Enjolras’s neck. “When you walked into the bar in that little outfit and—  _ fuck _ , the— the strap of your shirt kept falling down, you didn’t even care, did you? You wanted them all to see—” Enjolras moans, long and frantic. “Kept bending over that pool table in that short little skirt— _ fuck _ — Should’ve pulled you over my lap and spanked you for being such a fucking slut—  _ ah _ —”

Enjolras tosses her head back at the thought of it, thigh shaking where it’s pressed to R’s core. “ _ Please _ —”

“That’s right, babygirl—  _ fuck _ — getting all horny again? Like being used like this, like hearing all the dirty things I wanna do to you?  _ Ah _ — good little slut, that’s my girl—” R growls into her clavicle, hips trembling where they’re grinding into Enjolras’s, and yes, she thinks, she’s R’s girl, the only one who gets to see her come, the only one who gets to  _ make  _ her come—

And then she is, as Enjolras presses her thigh up insistently, her red lips parting on a hitching groan before her teeth dig into the juncture between Enjolras’s neck and shoulder, making her cry out. Enjolras watches, entranced, gripping Grantaire’s back and feeling the lean muscles tremble as she comes against her thigh, shivering as R’s breath fans out against her frantically. Grantaire squeezes her wrist even harder as the pleasure overtakes her, bruising and intense; Enjolras tilts her hips up desperately at the sensation, suddenly needing it, begging for relief again as R collapses on top of her with a sigh.

Cotton seems to fill her ears, the noises of the room— R’s pants as she tries and fails to catch her breath, her own pitiful whimpers— fading as she cants her hips weakly against R’s thigh. 

“You’re insatiable,” R whispers breathily, but there’s a smile in her voice like she’s amused and it makes Enjolras moan. She feels lost again, but it’s good this time, the weight of R above her and against her comforting, grounding. It spurs her on as she weakly ruts against Grantaire, chasing a pleasure she knows is going to tear her apart.

“Please— R,  _ please _ —!” The cry is raw, the pressure low in her tummy as painful as it is pleasurable and it’s everything she needs; R seems to sense it, nudging her thigh more firmly towards her throbbing pussy. She clenches her eyes shut, tossing her head back.

“Oh, sweetheart, yes—” The rasp in R’s voice makes her feel as high as the friction against her clit. “Is it too much, babygirl? Oh, you’re too good for me, getting all worked up like this, you take it so well—” And then there are fingers at her entrance, slipping inside her again, and it’s too much, she’s writhing against it, she can’t take it, every movement makes it more intense—

“R, R—” Her voice sounds like it doesn’t belong to her, too high and helpless as R curls her fingers inside her and smooths her hair away from where it’s sticking to the tear tracks on her face. “I can’t—”

“Shh, yes you can, baby, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” Grantaire still hasn’t caught her breath, sounding equal parts awed and exhausted but her hands are strong on her and in her and her body is solid on top of her and Enjolras can’t help but come apart underneath her, this goddess controlling her. 

Her vision goes dark as she shakes apart; she can’t tell if she’s crying out or completely silent, but R is holding her tight and her skin tingles with ecstasy in every place she’s touching her. Her back arches so sharply it aches, pressing her chest and ribcage into R’s body above her, stealing her breath from her lungs. R is whispering something in her ear— “ _ So pretty when you feel good, babygirl, that’s it, that’s my good girl”  _ — and she doesn’t know what she’s saying but it’s the only thing keeping her tethered, floating to the ceiling and pinned down at the same time.

She whimpers, distressed, when the strength in her body dissipates and she feels herself collapse, but R’s arms are underneath her, catching her as she falls back to the bed trembling, clinging to R’s biceps and shoulders, grip barely there. She can feel herself pulsing, clenching weakly around nothing after R’s fingers are done filling her up.

She stays like that for what feels like hours, hollow and fragile like a doll as R maneuvers her so she isn’t bearing all of R’s weight, though she thinks she could, thinks she even wants to. R’s cool fingers tangle in the mess of her hair, pulling gently every once in a while as if she’s seeking out some confirmation that Enj is still responsive, though all Enj can really muster is a short hum of pleasure and a hitching breath. Grantaire settles beside her, securing her other arm around her waist and palming at her hip. She hums a song in Enjolras’s ear; it grounds her, the rasp of R’s voice, the weird melody and the way it matches to the rhythm of R’s nails scratching lightly against her head.

She opens her eyes unconsciously, letting the lily on R’s shoulder come into focus. Squeezing R’s shoulder, she whimpers, pushing herself up on one shaking elbow.

R looks like the epitome of sex: her eyes are dark and shining and her short hair is all kinds of messed up from Enjolras’s tugging and pulling. Enjolras can’t believe she’s in her bed.

Grantaire shoots her an unrepentant smile, red lipstick smudged like some clumsy attempt at art. “For a virgin, you sure know how to tire a girl out,” Grantaire says just to see her blush.

“And you know how to show a girl a good first time,” Enjolras says primly, her voice half-gone, ignoring the way her cheeks pull at the drying of stale tears. Grantaire smiles wider, eyes crinkling, and tilts her head, removing her hand from Enj’s hair to prop herself up on an elbow. She can’t get over how beautiful the person in front of her is: all swirling tattoos and curving muscles and endless abyssal eyes. She could get dizzy staring into them, and part of her wants to— wants to fall into her eyes and arms and get stuck there.

Grantaire’s fingers snap in front of her; she flinches, wobbling on a weak arm.

“You with me?” R says, and her voice is fond if not worried, like she’s afraid Enjolras is going to get lost in the aether of her head again. Probably, she just doesn’t want Enjolras to start crying on her again.

“Yeah,” she says, flopping back down and pressing her face to Grantaire’s chest, R’s laugh rumbling against her cheek. “Yeah, I’m with you.” R strokes at her hair with her free hand, gently untangling the nest of knots. She doesn’t know when her hair broke free of its ponytail but doubts she’ll find the scrunchie anytime soon.

“We should probably clean up a little,” R says, and she’s right, but Enjolras whimpers into the space between her breasts and clutches more insistently at her shoulders, the thought of either of them getting up— the thought of separating for even a second— too formidable to entertain.

Fortunately, R gets the message, leaning down to kiss the crown of her head. “Fair enough,” she whispers drowsily, shifting so she’s horizontal. Careful not to nudge at anywhere sensitive, she tangles their legs and cradles Enjolras’s head, tucking her other arm behind her head. Her breathing evens out, an easy tide against Enjolras’s ear, and she closes her eyes to surrender herself to it.


End file.
